


The Most Dangerous Game

by CobaltArkangel



Category: RWBY
Genre: Humor, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltArkangel/pseuds/CobaltArkangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Port, fed up with his pupil's consistently low marks, decides to take a more hands-on aproach in his education of the Beacon youth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"These grades are abyssmal," Professor Peter Port huffed to himself. Frankly, he expected better from Beacon's supposedly best and brightest. 

Not a single soul passed his previous test, even the studious Ms. Belladonna was a few points shy of the threshold. Mr. Arc's paper had a name and not much else, while Ms. Rose's essay consisted solely of Cresent Rose sketches, which although intriguing were out of place in the essay portion.

Born in a small village, Port didn't have the luxury of a formal education, and subsequently picked up most of his knowledge on the fly. He didn't understand why they weren't utilizing this to their advantage. An hour long discussion for a twenty item test seemed more than reasonable to the pot-bellied veteran hunter. 

"Morning Professor." 

His train of thought was derailed by a familiar blue-haired goggle-wearing student's presence. The boy wasn't muscular, but was a good deal away from scrawny. One hand was scratching behind his ear whilst the other had a death grip on a trident. 

"Good morning, Mr. Vasilias." Port acknowledged, fully intent on recording his student's marks in time for a quick hunt before curfew. 

"How'd I do, Sir?" The teen asked, twirling his trident like a baton. Regulations demanded he admonish the young lad for toying with his weapon, but Port remembered doing the same thing in his first few years at Beacon.

"Not very well, I'm afraid. If it were any lower you'd likely see yourself on a one-way shuttle back to your hometown." The mustached fighter replied bluntly 

The youth gulped at that, but kept his composure nonetheless. "How'd the -uh- others do?" 

"Just as dreadful, boy." Port answered, dissapointed. 

"Alright sir," Neptune said, beginning to make his was towards the exit, "good ta-" 

"Is there any problem with my lectures?" The old man blurted out with uncharacteristic abruptness. 

"Nope. Not a thing." The boy lied, doing little to satiate the curious professor. Port stood up, leveling his gaze at the hunter-in-training. 

"Ms. Nikos is a child prodigy. Ms. Belladonna maintains a static 3.9 average. and Ms. Schnee is a dedicated perfectionist. 3 students with great potential, all struggling in nothing but my subject." 

The youth stood intently. 

"Tell me, child," Port began, twirling his mustache, "What. Is. The. Problem. In. My. Class." 

Neptune Vasilias shrugged. "No disrespect sir, but your class is a snoozefest. You tell long grandoise stories with improbable details at every opportunity." 

The veteran swallowed his annoyance and clenched his fist. "I see. Old Port and his tall tales." 

"That's not that big a problem. I even enjoyed the first few stories you had, like one where you rode a Nevermore-" 

"-from Mountain Glenn to Beacon." The professor finished wistfully. He smiled at the memory.

"Yeah, uh, it's just that it's getting repetitive, is all." Mr. Vasilias stammered out. He leaned on his trident like a cane. 

"How long has it been like this, child?" 

"For me, since week two." 

Port stroked his handelbars, all but forgetting the papers to be graded. 

"What would you suggest then?" 

The boy shrugged yet again. "I dunno, maybe an outdoor lesson for once. You're the one in charge of teaching us about Grimm and hunting, right? Hunters shouldn't be cooped up between four walls."

The grey-haired professor nodded in agreement, barely contain his glee. This boy understood him! His ideals! 

"You're right. You can't cage a lion and expect it to learn how to hunt...

Port scribbled on a small sheet of paper furiously. He gave a self-satisfied smirk that was borderline Cheshire. Neptune Vasilias was visibly unnerved by his teacher's unexpectedly strong reaction. 

"Tell your classmates that tommorow, we're going out for a little "expedition" in the Emerald Forest."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Port sets the stage for a more immersive game of hide and seek...

The old professor took a long look at the evening's assembly. Dozens of vibrant colors caught his eye, moving and merging amidst weapons and crowds. They seemed very much awake, which was always a plus in games like these: added a bit of spice, you see. It was going to be a lovely hunt.

Port coughed into his hand loudly, silencing his class.

"Alright, students. Today we're going to do something a bit different than the norm..."

He gave a wide grin. The students shuffled a few steps back, save for the unaware Ruby Rose who was yanked back by her partner.

"Just because we're hunters doesn't mean our only prey are Grimm. Sometimes we are called upon to seek dangerous people. The infamous rogue Roman Torchwick..." He glanced at the Scarlet-hooded child, "which I'm sure most of you are familiar with." A nod answered his assumption. "Including the lethal Mars Black, capable of..." he searched for a more child-friendly word. "silencing you in seconds flat." Hushed murmers erupted from the crowd.

"Grimm are easy. They hunt. They mate. They die. Humans are certainly more cunning, and infinitely more dangerous." Port began walking in front of his students, hands clasped behind his back.

"Most, if not all of you have been pampered and spoiled your entire lives before Beacon." A few gazes, excluding the professor himself, fell on the snow-white heiress wearing an indignant expression.

"You have grown accustomed to hot showers and cold rooms, getting three warm meals with plenty to spare. That will not be the case for today, nor tommorow, nor the day after."

The blond knight at the back row looked just on the verge of a panic attack.

"If you do not wish to join the fray, raise your hand."

Two dozen arms shot up.

"Keep in mind that this little field trip will account for no less than 40% of your general average."

Two dozen arms dropped down.

"This could potentially get you expelled from the most prestigious combat school known..." He took an unnecessarily long pause. Port liked to indulge in a little suspense at times.

"Or accelerate you all to third years, if all goes in your favor." He added with a smirk.

A pale hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss Belladonna.?"

"Just wondering Sir," Blake said, absent-mindedly twisting her bow, "Who are we hunting?"

"Excellent question, Ms. Belladonna." He roused loudly. "It was originally my intent to recruit the school's elite teaching staff to fill in that role. Fortunately, headmaster Ozpin recommended a more...intriguing concept."

The jovial professor's tone was beginning to turn sinister.

"A wise man once said, 'Know thy enemy, for they do not wish to know themselves'."

Confused glances were shared among the congregation.

"Wise, wise words indeed." He rambled on theatrically."Unfortunately, that man is dead. Fortunately, his wisdom lives on." Port tapped the side of his head for emphasis.

"And that is why, you children will serve as the prey-er- fugitives, I mean. You need to adopt the hunted's mindset in order to best them in the future."

"Mr. Vasilias, kindly explain the rules of this exercise."

The Cerulean topped teen walked forward, squinting at his new-fangled scroll. Port recalled the good old days, where people read from paper and retained their pristine vision.

"Students are instructed to remain in the Emerald Forest for the duration of the activity. They are each allowed (1) satchel, contents randomized, and their personal choice of weaponry. Ammunition, however, will not be allowed on the-"

Neptune let out an audible gulp. His eyes widened for a split second. "-hunting grounds. Students are allowed to trade the contents of their respective satchels amongst each other during the exercise, but may not congregate or group together for longer than (10) minutes at a time, in pairs of two at most. They may utilize any resources they-"

The trident-wielder moved closer to his screen.

"procure at the testing site. They may use whatever methods deemed necessary to evade the "Hunter" as well as nearby threats in proximity. Utilizing natural flora is camoflauge is recommended, though allergic reactions will be counter-intuitive to the main objective. If a student cannot manage another night, he or she will be allowed to return to the starting grounds, and will be promptly returned to their dorms by nightfall."

"Lasting through the first night will net you a solid C+, the second night B, the third night an A-. Merits and demerits to their grades will be added or subtracted, respectively, depending on their performance and their method of survival. During the second night, the ban on companions will be lifted, and any remaining combatants are welcome to pair up with anyone they choose, even their own partners. They are limited to one partner at a time, and any others present confers (+1) demerit per person per minute present. During the third night, the students will all receive a message on their scroll indicating the rendevous point. Making it there by nightfall guarantees a perfect mark in this exercise, but students can not go there before the designated time-period, lest they risk demerits."

"Once the hunter has found a student, they are not allowed to flee until at least a minute of combat has progressed. A student is automatically dismissed once their aura hits the 40% marker. A student gains a merit for every 5 points of aura taken from their pursuer, up to 6 merits at a time per battle. Semblances are allowed, but grandoise displays capable of excessive collateral damage are cause for demerits. Ambushing the pursuer grants the attacker 5 merits, but they must fight their opponent until either party reaches their limits." Neptune finished, pocketing his scroll. Students began depositing their ammunition and dust into a worn cardboard box labeled  _Gear_. 

"You have ten minutes." The professor reminded the student body, most of whom remained, mouth-agape.

"And counting..."

Students vanished from his view. Some opted to sprint away, while others dissapeared using their myriad of semblences.

Peter Port hefted his bladed blunderbuss, toes rapling against thin grass anxiously. 9 minutes 34 seconds...33...

The professor had stalked packs of Beuwolves, mauled dozens of Ursa, and decapitated his fair share of Nevermores. He had defeated them all with impunity. 

But now, the apex predator was hunting the most dangerous game.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day one begins, as students scramble to get away from their pursuer and begin their own hunt for supplies.

Every person present scattered, dashing in random directions. Not Jaune Arc though. For once in his life, he actually knew what he was doing. 

The blond knight could vaguely recall a spring by the western footpath, maybe a few hundred meters away. He didn't know if the water was drinking-quality or not, but either way he could deal with it by the time he got there. 

_Port's instructions probably threw everyone off their game_ , he considered quietly. Now that he thought about it, he and Cardin were probably the only ones not affected by that little revelation. Phyrra could manage, but she wasn't going to be the technical fighter she had been for a while. Nora had a glorified paperweight, though it could still easily crush legs with her herculean strength. Ren now possessed what amounted to a pair of very sharp brakes, but his semblance would compensate for his disadvantage. His team could manage. 

He honestly felt pretty bad for RWBY, with everyone there very much dependant on projectiles, one way or another. Ru would have a tough time swinging her cumbersome scythe, and she couldn't move as quickly without the recoil yanking her around. Yang now had a pair of very durable, very fashionable brass knuckles. Blake was now strictly reliant on CQC, which wasn't ideal for someone with low stamina. And Weiss had just relinquished every grain of dust in her possession. 

A part of him wanted to seek the snow queen out, but the other side was confident she could make it. She had got into Beacon after all. 

_Unlike you_ , his psyche replied. The blond fraud grimaced. Jaune regretted having to do that, but his blood stirred at the life of a warrior. The ends justified the means, just this once. 

_Just this once._

The knight trudged on towards his goal. 

***** 

The hunt had begun. 

The jovial professor was absolutely ecstatic! Cool, all-natural air was entering his lungs, a hundred times better than the synthetic substance being pumped by those huge conditioners. Rustling leaves and snapping twigs betrayed locations by the dozens, but he willfully ignored them as they got farther and farther away. It was only fair to give his prey a fair chance. Not to say it was by any means easy, as his yearning was beginning to overcome his self control. 

"TO THE HUNT!!!", the jolly veteran shouted at the top of his lungs, before firing his blunderbuss in the air. The sharp crack of igniting powder gave them fair warning to flee. That was the only mercy he would allow them on this perilous regiment. 

A little part of the old hunter's fire was rekindled.

***** 

_Think, Phyrra, think!_ , the redheaded hoplite demanded to herself. Seated on a half-rotten log, she could recall every single thing her tutors had taught. The vital points of a King Taijitu. How to disable rampaging ATLAS mechs in seconds. 

But among the many courses of education she had undertaken, survival training was not one of them. 

Everything she knew concerning the topic were derived from _Spruce Willis_ movies, which were less than reliable sources. 

The forest was...uncomfortable to say the least. Flies had plagued the prodigy since she had arrived, only intensifying as the day drew out. She envied Ruby now, mostly because of her choice of attire. Plenty of exposed skin made the bloodsuckers' assault ravenous. 

The satchel she was given was decent, though. A map of the forest, faded but legible, and a tiny, glass vial holding a clear liquid. Judging from her landmarks, she was likely in the south-eastern portion of the area. She had just crossed the worn stone circle they had passed by during initiation. 

A legend helpfully indicated the purpose of each location: Red X's were locations Grimm flocked to in droves, which took up a good chunk of the map. Blue indicating a nearby body of water, though it did not say if the content was fit for consumption. Green spots dotted around the canvas indicated rich, and likely edible, flora and fauna. A few areas were shaded ink-black, ominously void of details. 

Right now, the spear-wielding spartan was situated in a pristine white portion, with a blue spot close to the south and a green spot a few clicks north. Both were a moderate distance away, but she could only manage one more journey before plopping down in exhaustion. 

_What to do? What to do?_

***** 

The Schnee heiress was exhausted. Humid air had her breathing heavy, as did the distance she traveled. Port was a happy teacher, but that was all she knew of the man. 

Right now her biggest asset was gone, she was stuck in a forest with a possibly-psychotic hunter, and leaving the area cost her the majority of her grade, while staying may cost her the remainder of her lifespan. 

All in all, less than ideal accomodations for a lady of her class. 

She briefly considered calling out to her friends, but the risks snuffed out the possibility. She could attract Grimm, or worse, the professor, to her location. 

She had been roaming the grounds for a few hours, observing the hot sun grow even hotter as time went on. 

Deprived of dust, Myrtenaster was reduced to a fraction of its former strength. Still, its edge was keen enough to slice through foliage with ease, which benefited the Schnee greatly. Unfortunately, the action was beginning was beginning to take its toll on her, with the muscles in her right arm beginning to cramp. 

Ruby was probably better off than her, Crescent Rose's blade heavy enough to slice through branches like butter. Heck, if the scythe was sentient, it'd probably offer to do the task for her. 

The silence was deafening. She would give anything to talk to any of her friends. 

Yes, any of them. 

Up to and including Jaune. 

She checked her scroll. Still a long time to go before day 2. 

She really, really hoped Ruby was alright.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night falls.
> 
> The prey evades the predator.

He remembered his childhood. A small cabin in the woods, sharing land with a few more of varying states of disrepair. An old wooden table. A plump, smiling woman in floral patterns. Warm, succulent pot roast bathed in thick, creamy gravy, joined by mountains of mashed potatoes. 

His mother had always chided him for playing with his meals, but like everything in life waiting added to the experience. 

That was precisely why he'd let them off so easy.

A large part of his psyche was wrestling with the urge for quick satisfaction. Anything. Anything at all to sate his desire. But he also had to consider his students. He realized he could easily capture the majority within the day, and the handful remaining before breakfast the next day. But that would result in a lot of low marks, which would be the last thing either party would prefer.

Now he decided to up the ante, as they say. His blunderbuss was used liberally earlier, but that would no longer be the case. He made deliberately more noise than a rampaging beowolf pack. His students had experienced five hours of constant pursuit. They were hungry, weary, and unpredictable, the latter factor changing everything. 

For the last 5 hours, his class had been tracked. They were being followed by a boisterous charlatan.

Starting now, they were going to be pursued by one of the world's deadliest shadows.

*****

 _It was hard living off the land_ Cardin Winchester noted. Which was a bit of an exaggeration, if he had to answer honestly. He'd gotten the munchies, and chewed on the first thing he'd plucked off a tree. Not one of his brightest ideas, but brains weren't his strong suit. It was red and round, vaguely reminding him of an apple. Tough to chew, but sweet. He'd washed it before taking a bite, but it still managed to give him a bad case of the shits. 

_Almost didn't get the armor off in time_

A part of him was concerned about Russel and Dove and Sky, wondering how they were dealing on their end.

The other part was confident they could make it. Russel was one tough sonuvabitch, and Dove was fast enough to avoid a hit. Sky was pretty good with his polearm. 

_They'll be fine._

_Probably_

Right now Cardin was perched as high as his namesake, getting a bird's eye view of a good chunk of land. There was a fire going not too far from him, with clouds of thick smoke obscuring his view. If he had to guess, it was probably caused by team RWBY's blond bombshell. 

By the ground, he could see...a light? Yep, probably a flashlight judging from the output. It was glaring at him, blinding the bruiser. Whoever was holding that knew exactly where he was. And there was only one person brave enough to use a flashlight. 

The young man gulped, readying his mace. With his crappy luck it'd probably just bounce of Port's beergut. Better than coming at him unarmed though. 

May as well take the first swing, since he already knew where to find him. 

He picked up his satchel. 

The light was gone. 

Nerves frayed. 

"Quite fitting, to see a Cardinal perched by his nest..." 

Cardin did not turn around. He'd seen enough movies to know what happened when you faced the voice behind you. 

Instead he jumped. 

But the more appropriate word would be fall. 

It wasn't a pretty landing, but aura and armor kept him from breaking anything important. 

The pot-bellied revenant landed. He couldn't see it, but the shockwaves were unmistakable. Panicked eyes spun in search of his predator. 

"Right here, boy." Cardin looked. 

In contrast to what he probably looked like after a such a shitty day, the professor was still in top-condition. There were a few stains indicating dissolved Grimm remains, but his Glasgow smile was unmistakable. 

Then he was gone. 

Something tapped his shoulder. He froze. 

"Take your best shot." The veteran taunted. 

He did. 

15 pounds of titanium swung by 300 pounds of muscle connected with the right side of Port's face. 

He staggered back, disappeared. 

Then reappeared in front of him. 

A purple bruise replaced the pale skin of the struck side, but he was smiling. His grin was rendered gruesome by the blood staining his teeth. It took all of Cardin's willpower not to drop his mace and flee. 

The grizzled hunter patted his tender cheek. "Not a bad arm on you, boy. Think you can keep it up?" He finished, spitting blood. 

Then he cracked his knuckes. 

And charged. 

***** 

The heavy blow smarted, but adrenaline quickly numbed the pain. The youth looked just about ready to empty his bowels. Probably had, judging from the fowl stench emanating from the lad. 

He tackled the bruiser, putting him through a tree in the process. It really was dissapointing, having to "pull his punches", but they were children. And he was the hunter. 

He could feel the heavy mace connecting with his back, repeatedly, as Mr. Winchester swung in a bid for freedom. 

The blows were a nuisance, but tolerable. He stopped the onslought, watching the battered knight tumble into a rock. 

"Fuck me..." the boy said wearily. He struggled to get to his feet. 

"Language boy." The professor reminded his student. He took a step forward. The child took half a dozen back. 

Then he felt it. Cold. Not just cold, empty. His fire was being snuffed out. Thick, calloused hands were beginning to shake. He couldn't move, paralyzed. 

The boy smirked, but he was still shaking from the battle. "That's my semblance, Sir." 

His throat was constricting, but he forced the words out through willpower alone. "W-what is it?" 

The knight clutched his midsection, grunting in pain. But he kept smirking. 

"Fear, Sir." The youth explained. "Or more accurately, fear induction. It was a liability on missions, because it would only draw the mutts to us. And my targets could only feel as scared as I was."

The impact was beginning to subside, though it was by no means getting pleasant. "I see," the professor answered, hands firm once more, "but that would mean..." 

Mr. Winchester nodded. "I'm scared out of my mind right now. But I'm more scared of you than any possible Grimm I could attract." 

"Flattery will get you nowhere, child." 

The bruiser began limping away. 

"When I get far enough, the effect should be suspended. You'll feel just as hot-blooded as you did before, just with a lot more company that lil' old me." 

In spite of his predicament, the grizzly warrior couldn't help but swell with pride. His student, a slacker in fact, had done what dozens of career criminals had attempted and failed. 

He'd escaped. 

_Not for long, though._

 _ _*****__

 _ _

What Yang would give for a shower... 

The list was slowly growing the longer the activity went. 

Her golden mane was sporting a good deal of flora, and likely fauna from her trek. Tiny leaves and broken branches tangled in her hair, one branch even latching onto a thin lock. She responded by punching the offending branch. It yanked a few strands off... 

Things escalated... 

A series of unfortunate events... 

A few dozen trees may or may not have been torched. She just hoped that no one else would figure it out. 

She walked on, munching on a granola bar she found in her pack. The only other thing inside the bag were some ice dust crystals, which were as useful to her was milk was to Ruby's height. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a fight nearby. Judging from the snarls, it was probably a Grimm fighting. _Or Cardin_ , she imagined. He was probably more of an animal than the average faunas was. 

She began walking towards the battle noises. She could faintly make out the sound of blades striking bone. 

A Grimm then tumbled into her view, crashing through a half-rotten tree along the way. It glanced briefly at the blond, before two green blades impaled it just below its bony crest. The creature dissolved, dropping its killer on even ground. He turned to look at her. 

"Hello, Yang." 

"Sup Ren." 

The robed monk gave a curt nod before walking away. 

The blond followed his footsteps. 

"Wait!" The blond yelled. Pink eyes turned to look. 

"Mind if I tag along?" 

The indifferent warrior simply shrugged, going back to his original path. 

_Guess not _, Yang thought, walking with the sullen combatant.__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to RainStorm4 for writing Cardin's semblance in his own story.. If you haven't read his story Redemption, better start now. It's really good. It's on fanfic.net and worth the time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warrior shows his true might.

Grimm flocked by the dozens, drawn by the radiating beacon of turmoil that erupted in their forest. Nearly a hundred beasts gathered, from Ursa no larger than dogs to a pair of Nevermores, one larger than the Atlesian Military's flagship. Each monster looked ready to claim their pound of flesh. Unfortunately, they picked the wrong victim. 

Ruby Rose could see it all through the scope of her rifle. 

Grimm charged, and were promptly knocked away by meaty swings from a blunderbuss. The professor was having the time of his life, it seemed, heaving battle cries while combating the horde. 

A blast from his weapon pulverized the midsection of an ursa, the shot penetrating to do the same to the ones behind it. His blade sunk itself into dark matter, easily cutting through grimm "skin" enough to deal lethal blows. A nevermore shrieked, and the hunter clutched his ears in agony. Even Ruby was taken aback by the screech's intensity. Red trickled from the veteran's eardrums. 

One beowolf took advantage of the juggernaut's diverted focus, pouncing on his back and knocking him down.

The horde converged.

For once, Ruby was speechless. Port was a good teacher, if not the most boring one. No one deserved to be mauled to death. She began making here way to the carnage, taking another gander after a few trees. The mass of black bodies were still tearing into an unseen target. 

Then they exploded.

Grimm were evaporated, and the generous blast zone was left smoldering. The ones unaffected took cautious steps back, warily eyeing the crater that claimed their comrades.

Her teacher emerged from the smoke.

Professor Port's clothes were tattered, exposing surprisingly bulky muscles. One hand was gripped around and dragging an Ursa by its bony crest, the other holding his gun by the trigger. The horde moved back slightly.

With impressive strength, the old man crushed its skull, tossing the still evaporating remains on the ground.

Ruby Rose dashed towards them.

***** 

"Alright, who's next?" The professional challenged. One hand leveled his gun at the crowd, the other beckoning them to draw near. 

His taunts met with snarls, Peter fired into the crowd. Half a dozen fell to the blast, turnt to dust before hitting the ground. 

He fired a few more times, thinning out the multitude before engaging them in melee. A King Taijitu had taken the initiative, stinger poised for an overhead stab. Its pincer was stopped dead by a hardened bayonet. Port shoved the golden appendage back, followed by a vicious swing that severed its natural weapon. Unarmed, it was easily finished off by a powerful stomp from the heavyset man. 

A charging boarbatusk was directed off course by the human wrecking ball's heavy blow, launching into its bretheren with crushing force. 

Smiling, the professor charged into the fray, spearing an ursa larger than an Atlas Paladin, using its bulk as meatshield against its comrade's claws and talons. The wounded creature was mercifully dissipitated after being chucked into the Nevermore's wing, stunning the bird as it struggled to regain composure. 

The grizzled old warrior laughed. What a thrill it was, fighting and sweating and bleeding! Only when spiting at death's face did man feel truly alive. 

Port roared, an earsplitting cry that rivaled those of the behemoth Goliaths. 

His adversaries briefly looked uncertain whether to continue their assault or flee. 

***** 

"So...where are we going?" Yang questioned, trying to ignore the muzzle flashes and battle cries that permeated the air. 

"Sanctuary." was Ren's only reply. 

She had discovered that her companion was (shockingly)indifferent to the situation. After a few minutes of walking, they had reached the location. 

His "sanctuary" was centered on a bonfire. It was kind of sad, honestly, a circle of stones surrounding a waning flame. An improvised wooden spitroast hung over it, just close enough to get licked by the heat. Hollow logs served as decent seats, albeit primitive. A few stubby twigs and brown leaves were stacked in a modest pile next to the orange embers. 

'Won't the light just attract the grimm towards us?" The brawler questioned her host. 

"Actually, the flames seem to drive them away." Ren corrected. 

"Grimm aren't normally afraid of fire." 

"These aren't normal grimm." He acknowledged, grabbing a handful of kindling from his stockpile. He offered it to the blond. "Do you mind?" 

"Alright." She responded, taking the tinder into her hands. It ignited in her hands, after which she gingerly placed it within the dying blaze. 

"It's getting late." He noted 

_No shit_ , she wanted to add, but she bite her tongue. Last thing she needed to do was piss of the one person she could find. 

"Yeah it is." She instead replied. 

"Would you care to assist me in gathering leaves?" 

The blond looked at the pitiful kindling in their camp. "Branches actually burn better, Ren. Plus they don't make nearly as much smoke." 

His expression remained neutral. 

"I'm surprised you knew that." 

Yang shrugged. "What can I say, fire is kind of my thing." 

The monk nodded in agreement. "Still, that's not their intended purpose. I'd rather work on a decent mattress than sleep on the cold, hard ground tonight." 

Yang clicked her tongue. "We could always cuddle." She teased playfully. 

"I doubt Blake would like that very much." He replied, enjoying one of the rare moments Yang was speechless. Her mouth opened, only to close. The cycle repeated. 

"You...you...shut up!" She managed to cough out. 

"What's wrong, Yang? Cat got your tongue?" Ren gave a sly chuckle at the brawler's expense. 

The bashful teen turned pink, half from shame and half from anger. 

_Should have mentioned Nora_ , the blonde lamented, but the moment had passed. She calmed down. 

"Shouldn't we prioritize building a roof first?" 

"A roof won't keep you warm." Ren replied. 

"That's what my semblance is for." She rebutted. 

"Touche, but can your semblance keep your hair off the ground?" 

No reply. The blond simply trudged on to gather the leaves. Ren wore a self-satisfied smile for a split-second, before joining her in collection. 

***** 

What she was witnessing was ridiculous. Bordering on fanatical idealism. She doubted any witnesses, even her sister, would believe what was taking place right now. 

Port, _riding_ a nevermore, firing on the grimm hordes at ground level. One hand was gripping a handful of black downy at the giant bird's nape, the other working the trigger as it emptied shot after shot into the sea of blackness. 

Culminating in the nevermore _ramming_ into the grimm congregation. Like grass under a scythe, they were helpless as they were cut down. 

Vision obscured by dissolving grimm, she ran into the black mist. 

"Professor!!" She called out, losing sight of the juggernaut in the haze. 

She reached him just in time to witness a grimm massacre. The now-shirtless professor was hefting a boarbatusk by its most feared weapon.With one deft motion, the tusks were snapped off, only to be returned to its wielder's abdomen. Even its own heavy armor couldn't stop the blow. 

A surviving nevermore along with a beowolf attempted to skirmish the barbarian, the avian landing a light wound while the canine targeted his legs. 

Which was ultimately in vain, as a swift kick shattered the beowolf's rigid armor, followed by a gunshot pulverizing the nevermore. 

Ruby ran up to her teacher. 

"Professor! Are you alright?" she asked. 

"SORRY RUBY. I CAN'T HEAR YOU." 

The hooded girl took a deep breath. "PROFESSOR! ARE!YOU!ALL!RIGHT?" 

The grey-mustached man recoiled. "MY WORLD CHILD, YOU NEEDN'T YELL!!" 

"What happened? Why were there so many grimm earlier?" 

"MR. WINCHESTER OUTFOXED ME WITH HIS INGENIOUS PLAN" HE ANSWERED BACK. 

"Mr. Winchester? You mean Cardin?" 

"YES, TACTICAL GENIUS, THAT ONE. GIVE HIM A YEAR AND HE'D PROBABLY FIND HIMSELF SUCCEEDING IRONWOOD'S POSITION !!!" 

"Alright?" Ruby replied. Her conversation was opening up more questions than answers. Cardin? Genius? She doubted he'd even know what the hitting part of a mace was without someone telling him. 

"YOU DO KNOW I HAVE TO FIGHT YOU NOW, RIGHT?" 

The half-deaf powerhouse faced his student. 

Nothing but rose petals. 

"DRAT!"

***** 

"So...Ren..." The blond began, bumbling over her words. 

"Yes?" 

"You and Nora..." she implied, hoping he would take the hint. 

"What about us?" The jaded-jacketed fighter asked. 

_Density must be contagious_ , she sighed, briefly sympathizing with the ladies of JNPR. 

"Are you and her...y'know-" it should be Ren feeling awkward, but that didn't stop the blush from forming. 

He gazed at her expectantly. 

"-together?" 

"We've been together for about 12 years." 

"Really?" Her surprise was palpable. People normally didn't confess to stuff like this. 

"We met in Happy Days Orphanage, but time passed as anything but. Back then she so tiny. I stood a full head over her. But she was just as strong." 

Nostalgia set in, the normally stoic boy giving a rare, full smile. "I recall our first meeting: a bully attempted to take her toy, just a simple set of wooden blocks. I tried to intervene. Got a punch in the gut for my efforts. Nora got so mad she broke a long block over his head. The bully got knocked out cold." 

"We weren't always by each other's side. The system saw to that. But one way or another, we found each other." 

"Did you know," he began, staring into liliac eyes, "we enrolled into Beacon seperately. It was just by chance we encountered each other. We were launched in different sects of this very forest. Dozens of student's in between, yet we found each other." 

"As chaotic as Nora may be, she's my guardian angel. And I her's." The brunette finished, completely serious. 

"So you aren't...y'know..." Yang nervously began, "together-together." 

The robed boy stared at her with the utmost naivity. 

"I don't follow."

 _Screw it._

"Night Ren."


	6. Chapter 6

"Ruuuuuby?Yaaaaaang?" A shrill voice cried out. For hours the ice queen wandered hungry, tired, and now freezing(oh the irony).

Grimm were periodically appearing, the occasional ursa ambushing the graceful fighter. They would have been trivial with a spare dust cartridge, but without ammunition fights were something to be avoided.

Myrtenaster was not nearly robust enough to survive a misplaced stab, and the last thing she needed was a broken blade in dangerous territory. 

So she'd made the decision to use her glyphs to stay above ground. It had the benefit of being in the path of less resistance, with no damp grass or muddy earth to soil her satin skirt. Unfortunately, the excertion proved taxing, and while no longer being subjected to rough terrain, strong gusts of air buffeted the fencer. The young Schnee rubbed her exposed limbs in a futile attempt to recover circulation. 

She envied Yang, who had probably never been cold a day in her life. 

A gunshot echoed. Someone or something let out a blood-curdling scream. 

Right then, her concentration dissipitated. 

As did the glyph she stood on. 

The prodigy squeaked out a muffled "oomph" as she hit the ground. 

Right now Weiss Schnee hated a lot of things. 

She hated Port for putting them through this. 

She hated Ozpin for allowing this barbaric practice. 

And most of all... 

She hated Ruby for not being here. 

Ms. Schnee picked herself up, hobbling of to dust knew where. 

***** 

The Amazonian redhead walked mindfully, eyes glued to the paper guide. Miló and Akoúo̱ circled around her, skilfully manipulated by her semblance. 

The only thing Phyrra managed to scrounge up the entire day was red sap. It wasn't as sweet as Nora let on, but it was thick and rich, probably healthy, if her friend was a reliable example. But the rules of nature didn't always apply to the hyperactive valkerie. 

According to the parchment in her grasp, she was heading into safe territory. Shots were fired nearby, whicb grew fainter and fainter the further she traveled. 

The spartan managed to detect a body metal nearby. A good deal of it, likely from armor. Even without her semblance, feint rustling far too subtle to come from mindless grimm gave away whoever was hiding. 

She felt the body of metal moving, closer 

_closer_

_footsteps_

She raised a firm hand, shoving her attempted attacker into a tree. 

Her jaw dropped once she spotted the target of her wrath. 

"I'm sorry!" She slackened her hold. 

Jaune dropped like a fly, and the hoplite rushed to check on him. 

The boy groggily got up. "Hi, Phyrra." he murmered, rubbing a gloved hand on his head. Crocea Mors laid by his feet, quickly retrieved by the dazed combatant. 

The knight shook his head. "You're shaking." He pointed out. It was probably true, the constant walk with nothing but sap and adrenaline for fuel levying a heavy tax her body couldn't afford. 

Before she could answer, warm fingers brushed against her bare skin. Thick, soft fabric was drapped on her shoulders. 

"Feeling any better?" The chivalrous blond asked. Phyrra nodded. Truthfully, she found his touch more of a comfort than the blanket. 

"Let's get you somewhere warm." The gallant knight offered. He placed a gentle hand on the prodigy, leading his companion to his encampment. 

Hungry, freezing from the cold, body itching from mosquito bites, muscles sore, in unknown territory, following her partner. 

_No place I'd rather be_

***** 

A plastic bag full of cookies. 

Just dangling off a tree. 

The snowflake was beffudled. This was obviously some kind of trap. It had to be. 

Port must have set this up. Only he could come up with such a convoluted plan. 

Or it could have been left there by a wasteful/wasted traveler. 

_Should I?_ , the heiress privately considered. Bags of baked goods didn't just grow on trees. This was a stroke of luck. 

She was famished. 

But she wasn't Ruby. 

Even if it wasn't a trap, it would be a sad day in Vale when Schnees restorted to consuming such unwholesome garbage. 

_Maybe?_

***** 

Not one of her smartest decisions, in hindsight. 

Though if she had noticed one of the sampling's unnatural position the outcome would have been a far cry fr her current predicament. 

Now she was left dangling, upside-down, thin rope looped around pale legs right above the heels. Her rapier fell from her grasp, leaving the fencer unarmed. Thankfully, at the very least, her rigid combat skirt retained its form, sparing the woman her modesty. 

"Help!" She yelled, but couldn't recognize the voice as her own. It was far too hoarse to come from her lips. 

Branches rustled on a faraway tree. Then a nearer one shook. Followed by another. 

"Ruby? You're looking awful pale. Might wanna cut down on the milk." The monkey faunas joked, hanging onto a thin branch by his tail. 

"Har har Sun. Now cut me down." She demanded. 

The Vacuan student gave a sly smile. 

"Don't get me wrong, lady, it's not that I don't want to, but-" He explained, pulling out his staff for emphasis. "Well, you've found one of the three students in Beacon that don't use blades." He pantomined a slashing motion. Weiss rolled her eyes. 

"I gotta go clock out." He yawned, streching his arms. "Wouldn't trust Nora to leave any leftovers, so..." 

The heiress' eyes widened. 

"You wouldn't." 

Sun was gone. 

Then he was back, Myrtenaster in hand. 

"So..." He began, staring at the rapier in bewilderment. 

_Dust, he couldn't be that dumb._

"It's a blade." she deadpanned. 

"I can see that." Sun replied. 

"So this..." he pointed to the outward edge, "is the cutting part?" 

Frustrated light-blue eyes glared at the comedian. 

"Oh for dust's sake just hand it over." 

The Vacuan complied, fake hurt flashing on his features, followed by his trademark cheeky grin. "Yes, m'lady." 

She looked up at the rope, angling the blade to sever the noose around her ankles. One quick thrust and the binding came undone. 

Weiss found herself falling yet again. Then she didn't. 

Firm arms straddled her back, catching the heiress bridal style. She could feel the warmth of his bare chest through her blouse. 

"You good?" Sun questioned, concerned. There was nothing teasing about those eyes now. She gave a nod, hoping her cheeks didn't redden. 

He gave a roguish half-smirk, planting the heiress firmly on her feet. 

"I'd really appreciate it if word didn't slip by Blake. Not sure if she's the jealous type, but don't plan on finding out anytime soon." 

The sweating snowflake huffed, rubbing the raw rope burns on her ankles. The faunas boy laughed. 

"You're insufferable." She sneered, all semblance of blush gone. 

"Careful," Sun warned, "Ruby might get suspicious. Rather not get between you and the Roses." 

The Schnee, with great dignity, dusted herself off, picked up the cookie bag, 

And promptly smacked her companion upside the head with it. 

***** 

After a long trek, the pair had managed to reach Jaune's camp. 

Contrary to Phyrra's expectations of Jaune(sorry), the area was surprisingly well made. 

A pile of dry twigs and wood shavings were stacked in the middle of an arc of smooth, polished stones. A thin wooden tube by the riverbank was collecting water in dribbles, the flow of clean drips pooling into a white plastic bag with an audible patter. There were even sleeping quarters: a thin tapestry of woven grass placed on high ground, with his empty satchel serving as a clean, albeit tiny, pillow. 

The knight turned, giving out a sheepish grin. "Sorry, best I could scrounge up at the moment." 

"No, Jaune," the amazon reassured. "It's perfect." 

_Your perfect._ she refrained from mentioning. 

"Well, better get a fire going." The blond replied nervously. He knelt down by the pile, selecting two long sticks and rubbing them perpendicular to one another. 

It was a peculiar way to start a fire, and certainly one of the more difficult methods, if Jaune's grim expression was anything to go by. Surprisingly, orange embers flicked down quickly, smoldering the shredded wood. Smoke rose from the tinder. 

"Yesss!" The knight exclaimed loudly, pumping his fists. 

She glanced at her partner. 

"I mean, fire's going great." He reiterated, trying and failing to remain nonchalant. The redhead smiled. 

"You did a great job, Jaune. You should be proud." 

The boy visibly perked up at the praise. "Aww...thanks." 

They sat in comfortable silence. 

"So..." the armored amazon began. The paladin turned to face her. 

"When did you learn to do all this?" she gestured to the camp. 

The boy shrugged. "My father really, really liked camping. Every year me and my family took a bus to some no-name patch of woods and booked it for the weekend." 

The blond looked up, a wistful smile on his face. "It was just me and dad looking out for mom and my sisters. He taught me how to set up camp, and how to track the animals we hunted. Heck, I even know a thing or two about setting up snares. It was tough with four hands and ten mouths to feed, but somehow we got by every visit." 

The smile vanished, replaced with a sullen expression . "Now that I think about it, this is the first time I won't be joining them. Hope dad can deal with the brat pack without me." 

Phyrrah rested a gloved hand on his shoulder, "They can probably handle it." 

The knight gave a tired, but unforced smile. The gesture was returned in kind. 

Abruptly, he blond smacked his forehead, mumbling something about "checking symptoms of dehydration prior". He got up and jogged away, returning with a metallic mug. 

"You must be really thirsty." 

"A little, I guess." Truthfully, her tongue was swollen and rough as sandpaper. 

She raised an arm to attract the cup, only for Jaune to lay a gentle gloved hand on her sleeve. Her partner trickled the contents into her thirsty lips. 

"Better?" He inquired, concerned. 

The prodigy nodded, wipping a hand on her lips. 

"Can you walk?" 

She was exhausted, not crippled. Still, the worry was a sweet, if misplaced, sentiment. She nodded, and got back to her feet. 

Tried to, at least, before dropping like a languid rock. 

She attempted another go, stopped halfway through the process by her gallant knight. 

""Phyrrah, please. Don't." He begged, offering a strong hand in assistance. 

She was expecting a pick-me-up, and was obviously shocked to have been swept of her feet and carried off. 

"Easy, girl." Jaune cooed, gently laying the warrior on the matting. 

It had not slipped the prodigy's notice the fact that there was only one cot in the camp. 

"But Jaune..." 

"Relax," the chivalrous boy reassured. "I can manage." 

She tried to protest, but her body betrayed her and refused to move. 

He brushed a stray lock of auburn from her forehead. 

"Sweet dreams, Phyrra." 

Sleep came easy that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really letting loose my inner Arkos in this chapter XD
> 
> Just letting you guys know, thanks for sticking with me for six chapters. I would have probably scrapped the fic had it not been for the lovely feedback and thoughts you guys shared.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a good nights sleep(for some), the prey begin the day anew, very much refreshed.
> 
> Warning for language.

Deep under her makeshift, the blond relaxed. It may not have been the same as her bunk back at their dorm, but it was a comfort, hell even a luxury at this point. 

Her sleeping quarters was a pile of withering leaves stacked on damp, soft soil. She would never have considered sleeping on such a tawdry cot before, but the simple space had a revitalizing air to it. She felt fresh as a daisy and just as golden.

All in all, not a bad way to start the day. 

Her companion was gone, his "bed" neatly sorted and somehow looked folded. 

Ren had this down to a pat. Everything here had a purpose, and there was an elegance to his creations. It spoke of experience cultivated through years of practice. No, not practice, application. While unfortunate, she wasn't beyond appreciating the value of his particular skillset. 

"I could do with some assistance, Yang." An even voice called out. Ren had this uncanny ability to increase his speaking volume without deviating from his normal voice, unlike Nora who's loudness was a direct ratio to the sugar flowing in her system. 

***** 

Today was a beautiful day! Sun was shining! Birds were chirping(If nevermores counted as birds, and screeches fell under chirping), and they got Weiss back!(Not that she was ever there before. Good luck telling her though). 

Nora always thought Weiss was pretty nice, if a bit snooty at times. That didn't make her any less of a friend to the tiny bruiser. 

Though she didn't compare to Ren. No one else did. 

No one ever would. 

Day one was uneventful for Nora, just a few ursa with thin armor plates, barely enough to slow down Magnhild. She just stumbled into Sun, and that was that.

It had been them. It had always been them, Ren and Nora against the world. She always kept him going, and he kept her in check. 

Right now he wasn't there, but he was there. Just not with her, but he was there, somewhere. And she would find him, like she always did.

A Beowolf came charging out of a bush towards her, intent on pouncing on the teen. Nora braced, swinging her warhammer strongly, and it connected to the grimm's chest with a meaty thump, knocking it down. The corpse began to smoke and sizzle like burned pancakes. 

_Pancakes. Ren always made the best pancakes._

Her stomache grumbled, and she dug through her satchel for a snack. A candy bar could probably tide her over for a couple minutes, though Ren wouldn't have approved. He always chided her for not eating properly, ironically failing to notice that green juice he loved making didn't classify as food(or edible, for that matter). She remembered his face when that foul concoction came back up. How unconvinced he looked when she tried to convince him no one would notice. 

She laughed at the memory. 

_See you soon Ren_

***** 

"What's she laughing about?" The heiress seemed to demand. Her blade was one her hips, though fat load of good it would do her now. 

Sun shrugged, jacket rolling with the movement . "Beats me; you get used to it after a bit." 

"How did you two even meet up? 

The monkey faunas kicked a pebble. "We just did, I guess. I spotted her a couple hours after we all split, just demolishing the grimm here. It was pretty intense." 

The blond absent-mindedly began swinging his pole. "She was still pretty fired up about finding Ren, but I managed to convince her to chill out for a bit. So we pooled our supplies and set up camp." 

"Camp" was a generous term for whatever you could call this, but Sun probably didn't care much for normal beds, being, well, Sun. And Nora probably didn't even notice where she slept so long as she wasn't alone for the night. 

Then he smiled that cheeky little grin of his. "Then a couple hours later some chick gets herself snagged trying to swipe a pack of cookies. Leave it to the pros, Miss Schnee." 

Said Schnee briefly considered whacking him with the cookie bag yet again, but decided against it. No point in wasting good cookies. Instead, she glared. 

The monkey faunas raised his hands in mock surrender. "Kidding, kidding." 

The glare softened a bit, but was still more piercing than Myrtenaster's tip. 

"How were the cookies, by the way?" 

"Not half bad, actually. Could use some milk though."

*****

Port walked alone. He relished every second of it. 

Where his quarries had dozed off, he had remained vigilant through the night. The blows he sustained had already healed, save the one Mr. Winchester dealt him, for he chose not to. No hunter should every forget the prey that got away. 

He had come across a few of his students at their most vulnerable: snug asleep. It had been a pleasure waking them up; he lived for that moment of dawning realization. 

Every one of them had fought back valiantly, in spite of sleep deprivation and hunger pains gnawing at their constitution. Mr. Thrush in particular had put up a decent fight... 

***** 

Russel was not having a good fucking time. An entire day walking in this shithole of a forest, without anything but his hoodie and knives. 

He really needed to find someone, yes, even Jaune. He'd rather have that sham of hunter than some silence. 

It was true, his team weren't the nicest of people. Cardin was a bit of a douche, and Sky and Lark wouldn't win any awards for congeniality(yeah, he could use big words too. fuck off.), but they were honest, believe it or not. They got in here for their hard work, their tenacity, not some forged papers or a dumbass persona. 

They probably looked like jackasses to everyone they knew, shitting on tall, blond, and awkward. If only they knew... 

Hell, even if they did know, they probably wouldn't give a damn. He'd always be Jaune the goofball. Jaune the sweetheart. Jaune the gallant-fucking-knight in shining-fucking-armor. Not Jaune the fraud, or Jaune the poser. 

_Fuck the haters_

Cardin was a D-bag, but he was honest about it. And he didn't slip into Beacon like a serpent. He was a friend. 

An actual friend, one who was willing to shoot the shit with you and still call you out on your BS, unlike those people from RWBY of JNPR. It was a wonder they got anything done with their passive-aggressiveness. 

He paused for a bit, thinking. They weren't by any means bad people; they just rubbed him the wrong way. Only one who didn't was Ruby, though he cut her some slack for still being a kid. 

Russel decided to call it a night, leaning on a tree trunk. His eyes felt heavy and blinked, and just like that he was face to face with the smiling professor. 

"Hello, Mr. Thrush." Port greeted jovially, the sillhouette of his weapon of choice painting a terrifying picture. It just occured to him that the old guy barely had any clothes on. 

The rogue gulped. _crap_. 

_Think, Russel, think_

He grabbed a fistful of dirt, chucking it at beardo's face. Pebbles and debris bounced off, but some dust caught him in the eyes. He coughed and rubbed his eyes, so Russel decided to kicked him in the crotch. 

He wasn't sure if it was the aura, or his teacher actually did have brass balls, but explanations didn't matter. All that did was that his foot hurt like hell. 

Russel booked it, sprinting into the darkness and melting into shadow. There was no Port. No Grimm. No forest. Just a surface, and every bump on it. It wasn't a pleasant semblance by any means, but it had its uses. 

_4 minutes_. He reminded himself. 4 minutes, then he could run. Right now he had to stay alert. Stay awake. Stay alive. 

His stuffy professor was looking pretty scary right now, and he wasn't too keen on taking a blunderaxe to the ass. Or to anywhere on his body, for that matter. Unlike Cardin, he didn't have the gear or the bulk to take a hit. 

Weird they hadn't crossed paths yet. His semblance should have given him away for a long while by now. 

He glanced at Porterhouse over there. Nothing, except maybe annoyance was evident on his face. He kept muttering about "Not having fun" and "Be a good sport" with the same friendly tone of voice. While swinging around that blunderaxe of his like a baton. 

_Fuck my life_

 _ _Russel dipped into the ground, traveling to the tree he was leaning on. He willed himself to materialize, right behind Port, and took a few quick slashes at him. The knives seemed to bounce of him, though a rough grunt slipped through his tough guy exterior. Still pinpricks to him, but the kind that drew blood. Rinse and repeat, maybe Port would be the one running.__

 _ _

At that moment, Port decided to rebute with a punch. Russel turned shadow just fast enough to avoid the meaty fist, which promptly impacted the tree. Which promptly turned into kindling. 

He remembered learning stuff like this in Vacuo. Something about fire being made from a lot of friction and force. He'd always found the concept interesting at the time, but now seeing its application made him scared. Big man was not fucking around. 

The rogue went for another sweep, nailing his weapon arm. This time it was a swing from his blunderaxe, which was narrowly dodged by a backflip. Another follow up slash to the chest, followed by a kick to the face. 

He couldn't help himself: "In the end, this old fart was no match for my sheer tenacity." 

Port stared at him, what passed for his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're playing a dangerous game here boy." 

Russel went for another hit, blades poised to impale his shoulders. Time seemed to slow down just enough for him to notice Port's gruesome smile. His blades went sraight into his beefy shoulders, no aura to deflect, or even slow down the attack. He fruitlessly tried to yank his daggers, the blades holding firm in thick muscle. 

Port went for a headbutt, finally landing a proper hit on the lad. The rogue was sent flying, just barely managing to turn incorporeal before melting into the ground. 

"NOW THIS! THIS! IS! A! BATTLE!!" He yelled, yanking the blades from his bulky muscles before tossing them aside. "FACE ME!!" 

Elsewhere, Russel was rubbing his jaw and probably shitting his pants. Instinct told him to GTFO, but the more rational side of his brain knew he'd need his blades back. It also knew Port was guarding them like a pudgy hawk. 

He saw the old man still looking for him, those precious daggers a few meters away. Maybe, just maybe, he could make a break for his weapon before he got cleaved in half. Pushing his luck a bit, maybe even avoid getting pulped by a blunderbuss long enough to regroup with Cardin and the dynamic dumbasses. 

Russel melted into a silhouette, racing across the uneven ground toward his best approximation he could make of his daggers. 

He went corporeal, only to find his weapons gone. He glanced at the professor, who gave a satisfied chuckle. His blunderaxe was aimed at the rogue's chest, almost pleading for a reason. Jutting out of his right pocket were Polaris and Octanis. 

"I have to give credit to you, young one," Port began "For respecting the virtues of tried-and-true weaponry. A gun is fine and dandy, but nothing compares to the adrenaline rush of close combat!" 

Russel spat, "Says the man aiming a freakin' hand cannon at a kid." 

Port glanced at his weapon. "You have a fair point." He began yanking out the fighter's daggers from his pocket, tossing them to the huntsman-in-training, who caught them with practiced ease. Port began holstering his weapon. 

Russel gawked at the action. "What are you doing?" 

He put his fists up, anticipation on his mustached face. "Now, we fight like men. Have at thee, boy!" 

Russel tried to flee, but the path he wanted to take was now a smoking crater. 

"Don't bother running, Mr.Thrush." Port warned, blowing at the smoking end of his blunderaxe, "You won't get far-" 

Russel seemed to warp into the veteran's view, catching him off guard for a brief moment. He followed up with quick, shallow slashes that were blocked by bulky arms and sheer willpower. 

He disengaged, hitting the ground just fast enough to avoid a retaliatory swing of a meaty fist. 

The rogue rematerialized behind the juggernaut, jabbing the back of his grey head with Octanis. Port stumbled forwards a bit from the blow. 

Smelling blood in the water, Russel went for another strike. He did, however, pick the worst possible time to capitalize on his momentum. A thick, sinewy hand shot up and clutched his throat, stopping him cold. 

Before he could disappear, Port slammed his opponent into the ground, eliciting a groan from his student. He went for another pounding, only for a shadow to slip through his fingers. Barely. 

The grey-haired warrior grunted, shaking the derbis off his now-empty fist. Wary eyes scanned his surroundings... 

...To discover the junior huntsman right in his guard, blades poised to unleash a barrage of blows. 

Slashes were blocked, and steel rang off aura-laden forearms. Every attack the rogue made was rendered moot by impressive defense on Port's part. 

Russel attempted a downward stab, putting all his strength into breaking Port's guard. 

Two brawny hands shot up, wrapping around his wrists like iron bands. 

Port yanked the arms apart, a vicious headbutt re-introducing the rogue to a world of hurt. 

Aura took the brunt of the blow, but Russel could taste copper on the roof of his mouth. Every bit of his will was concentrated on turning his body to shadow before he got tenderized. 

He couldn't. 

Port slammed him into the ground. He could have sworn he heard bones cry out in agony. He tried to crawl away, but was unceremoniously picked up and dropped over Port's bare shoulder, the reek of sweat and dirt forcing their way up his nostrils. 

"Very good Mr.Thrush. Very good indeed." Port commended. "I may make a huntsman out of you yet." 

He wasn't ending the day strapped on some half-naked guy's shoulder like some lady shit out of luck. He would never hear the end of it from his team. 

Reinvigorated by the threat of personal shame, Russel began willing himself to morph. Exhaustion and hunger were taking their toll, but he gave those the proverbial middle finger. 

And just like that Port was yanked into Russel's world. 

It wasn't a pleasant experience, for either of them. The unfamiliarity of the dimension reduced Port back to pure, feral instinct. And the only thing more dangerous than a disciplined hunter was a one running on instinct. 

The shadow began bubbling and shifting as it never had before, the huntsman struggling to maintain his grip on his world. 

Port was putting up a hell of a fight for an old guy. Must be all that mustache wax in his system. 

Russel really wished his partner was backing him up now. A bit of pants-shitting terror did wonders for reducing willpower. Would have made this much easier than it was at the moment. He could feel himself lose control of the situation... 

And just like that, they were back in the real world, the junior huntsman unconscious from overexertion. 

Port plopped him back on his shoulder and trudged on, stirred but not very shaken by his student's surprise. 

***** 

Here he was, the fearsome huntsman with his bounty claimed. The green-haired boy was still unconscious, but some time in the infirmary should bring him back to bear. 

Mr.Thrush had exceeded expectations, truly he did. He demonstrated tenacity and determination more ought to reveil in. He was confronted by an unwinnable situation, and did not yield. And, most impressively of all, he kept him occupied for the better part of the night. It was a noble (note:unintentional) sacrifice. 

He felt a twinge of guilt for underestimating the lad, and his team for good measure. They did deserve to be here at Beacon, just not for their atrocious academics. 

It was a rare luxury to find such selflessness, such nobility, in the world. Port would remember that. 

_Such a shame he was the first to go._

He sat down, the howls of dying grimm serenading the mad warrior's rest.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> My Russel Thrush was influenced by his portrayal in "Redemption", while his semblance was heavily inspired (directly copied) from Niobe Ishii's power in "Don't be a Hero: A Superhero Novel". If you haven't read it, do it now. It's awesome.
> 
> Also, Polaris and Octanis were straight out of the same fic.


	8. Hunter's Log:    Russel Thrush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into the mind of the nutty professor, who reminisces on his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd try something a bit different here, give some insight into the old man. He always seemed like he knew more than he let on, honestly, so I'm writing his as such.

_I've claimed my bounty, the first of many, I hope. Such a shame I had to do it alone. My old chums from PWTR would have loved the sport, but alas, they are no longer with us. Robin had fallen defending a village, arrows flying true 'till the very end. William had fallen from some dreadful affliction, and that was all I have managed to gather. Terry was the only other warrior standing, and even then his memory is ailing._

 _Robin had always been an archer through and through, what he lacked in melee skills were easily covered by his improbably accuracy. He had been a rogue in every sense of the word, disagreeing with orders if they conflicted with his code. But he had a good heart, one that led him to the town of Misenwood during the disaster known as the Misenwood migration, where flocks upon flocks of Nevermore layed siege to the open-aired town. I recall his expertise, and it would not be an exaggeration to assume ever arrow he knocked was a killshot. Unfortunately there were far more grimm then he had arrows for, and a huntsman had fallen later that day._

 _

I remembered seeing my comrade's body, knowing full well the extent of his wounds. And I also remember the old man in a suit, eyes sewn shut and Kestrel finally wrenched from his grip. Rest in peace, you old bastard. 

William had given his all, claiming a good deal of prey with his greatsword. It had always looked cumbersome to me, and I had always wondered why such a small man could wield it properly. I needn't concern myself with the details, he rebutted. He cleaved grimm with mighty swings. Every time I see Yatsuhashi from CFVY, I cannot help but remember you, my friend. 

Now you lay there, unmoving, Fidem's once-keen edge rusting at your grave, both of you robbed of purpose. 

Terry, our leader, was a sharp mind, had a sharper blade, and by far the sharpest tongue. He did not enjoy the sound of battle as much as we did, choosing to pass the time sitting silently, writing his novels. But what he lacked in enthusiasm was made up with efficiency of the highest magnitudes. Not a wasted movement. A man, a big, burly fellow, mind you, once tried to threaten him while he wrote a new chapter, demanding his undivided attention. Sir Terry responded by ignoring the man, who sought out to grab his precious pages. In a second his pen had unfurled into his dagger, and Bonum Omen was by the man's neck the next. In spite of that case, he was an amicable fellow, acerbic wit always at the ready for friends and fo-ish friends a like. He loved to travel, scouring the landscape looking for new words to say. 

Now look at him, barely coherent, mind deteriorating, a shell of a shell of the man he once was. 

I'm the last of my band of brothers. A relic of the old world, to be discarded or studied then discarded. The world didn't have time for this old fart. 

I tried to fight it at first, but why bother? One day this old bag of bones is going to drop and won't get back up again. Best course of action was make sure what I knew didn't go to waste. Make sure a new generation of Robins, Williams, and Terrys learned what they needed to know to rip an ursa in half. 

And that brings me back today, where one brave student held the line against a remnant of the old world. Russel Thrush, member of team CRDN, has proved his worth to this weary old soul. 

The young lad was impressive to say the least, and unorthodox, using a pair of blades to fight, and only blades. He was quite similar to you, Terry. In the right hands with the proper training he could even surpass you. 

He blinded me with earth and went for the cheap shot, managing to slip away. Instead of running, like I thought he would at least consier, Mr.Thrush ambushed me with gusto. While his blades didn't have much of a bite to them, he more than made up for it with sheer relentlessness. 

Blows I ought to have landed failed to connect, and he was all the more fortunate for it. His semblance was shifting into shadow, something I'm certain Terry would have found amusing. Nothing fazed him while he was a shadow, but he couldn't hope to land a blow in that state. I wondered why he didn't use it during their bout this Nikos. It would have made all the difference in the world. 

In spite of his valiant efforts, I subdued him with moves that would do Headmaster Bordon proud. 

Not long after, he surprised me, dragging me into his skewed semblance. What could a fighter do in a void? Punch a vacuum? It was fortunate he had little strength left in him, lest I'd have had to resort to unsavory means to escape his grasp. 

The one thing all our old mentors and comrades told us to always uphold was will. Will to never yield, no matter the situation, no matter the circumstances. The lad upholded that virtue, up to the point he could no longer do so. 

In another life, I'd have found another brother-in-arms, able and willing to uphold traditions that were no longer his own. 

Instead, I discovered a kindred spirit, decades of time and battle separating us. 

My young warriors probably think little of me, a mad man sharing impossible stories of old exploits. A blodthirsty-lunatic put in charge of first-years. And they would not be that far off, sadly. Ozpin fights his battles so his students no longer have too. Bart does so in order to ensure the same mistakes will never be made. I do so out of pleasure. The thrill of ripping of a boarbatusks' appendages and ending it with those very same weapons is incomparable to any other. But we do need grimm to function, as a society. 

I have heard my students mumbling sentences like "Kill all the grimm." like a mantra. I doubt they realize the reprecussions should the Grimm finally up and dust themselves. Hundreds upon hundreds of the strongest warriors without a cause, without an enemy to battle, or a job to support them. Imagine hundreds of Torchwick's, lacking the finesse of the original. Four kingdoms, having no more need to play nice, begin working towards their own interests. Grimm have given everyone a common enemy: a purpose. 

Grimm were responsible for everyone's tenuous peace and prosperity. It was a sombering thought. 

But one I considered daily. Every monster we killed was one less hurting someone, but also one less to scare the liars, the smooth talkers, the politicians into putting everyone's needs above their own. 

This is why we never bother to "Kill All The Grimm!". Even if we could feasibly wipe them all out, nothing good would come of removing the catalyst of our peace. And where would I be then? Playing video games for a living? Be a runway model? I need grimm as much as Bart needs his coffee. 

Until next time.

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify
> 
> Peter Port is based on Peter and the Wolf(This is from Roosterteeth themselves)
> 
> Robin is an obvious expy of Robin Hood
> 
> William is symbolic of William the Conqueror
> 
> And Terry is what I imagined Terry Pratchett would be in the world of Remnant.


End file.
